Shi to Shi
by Arkenjil
Summary: [1+/x2 shounen-ai] A contemplative story told from the perspectives of Duo Maxwell and Heero Yuy...introspective get-together fic. R&R, please!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer:  I do not nor ever have nor ever tried to pretend to be the owner of Shin Kidousenki Gundam Wing or any of its characters and everything else.  It belongs to Sunrise, Bandai, Sotsu Agency, and related companies…not to me.  I'm just borrowing the characters for the sole purpose of (self-) entertainment.  There is no profit resulting from this.

Warning/Author's Note:  This story is either told from the perspective of Duo Maxwell or Heero Yuy and does _not_ follow the original story line presented in Shin Kidousenki Gundam Wing.  It will feature/focus on a 1+2 shounen-ai relationship…others may or may not be present.  Also, note swearing.

Shi to Shi

_//Duo Maxwell//_

What has become of life?

            As an orphan growing up on the streets of L2, life was a constant struggle—a fierce contest for survival.  We waged brutal fights between rival gangs, shopkeepers, soldiers, and one another.  We searched for food, clothing, shelter, friendship—the basic human needs, every one of us scrabbling to stay alive, to etch a living out of a situation that grew more and more desperate as time went on.  Each new day meant a thousand new worries, crippling hunger, searing pain, and always, a growing sense of bitterness.

            We were just children then, and we were jaded.  We had grown up far too soon, for had we not forced ourselves to adapt, we would have be long dead.  It was a contest of will, of determination.  Everything we did was a direct result of our wish to be able to see and meet the next day.  We had no dreams.  We only had our wits and a burning desire to live.  Some may call it cruel.  We just knew it as reality.  However fortunately or unfortunately, I survived.

            Many did not.

            Now, as a teenager—as a Gundam pilot—life simply _is_ battle.  Earth, the colonies, and everything in between are just a giant battlefield where no rules exist.  We play for life or death.  We play hard.  For once you're dead, it doesn't matter whether it was a fair fight, or whether you were unarmed; you are dead.  And that's that.

            And the scale grows larger.  What once may have been a fistfight in the streets is now a gunfight in a city.  I'm not out to take a single Leo from OZ anymore; I'm out to steal the lives of those Leo pilots who stand in my way.  And although these new challenges that I encounter nowadays are much more terrible than what I have faced before, I believe that once again, I, Duo Maxwell, shall be a survivor.

            …Because I am Shinigami, the God of Death.

            Destruction walks at my side, silent and cold.  Destruction is my sole constant companion in this war called life, for anyone who dares tread closely is disposed of by him.

            Such is my blessing—and such is my curse.  Destruction has preserved my life but also plagues it, for all those whom I have loved, all those whom I have ever cared for, have also died.  I distance myself from all now, the jester's mask secured, so that none will attempt to truly acquaint themselves with me again.  It's just me, myself, and I—or, more accurately, Duo, destruction, and Shinigami.

            And so, I am alone.

            I am always utterly alone.

TBC…


	2. Chapter 01

Disclaimer:  I do not nor ever have nor ever tried to pretend to be the owner of Shin Kidousenki Gundam Wing or any of its characters and everything else.  It belongs to Sunrise, Bandai, Sotsu Agency, and related companies…not to me.  I'm just borrowing the characters for the sole purpose of (self-) entertainment.  There is no profit resulting from this.

Warning/Author's Note:  This story is either told from the perspective of Duo Maxwell or Heero Yuy and does _not_ follow the original story line presented in Shin Kidousenki Gundam Wing.  It will feature/focus on a 1+2 shounen-ai relationship…others may or may not be present.  Also, note swearing.

Shi to Shi

Chapter 01

_//Duo Maxwell//_

The first time I set foot on Earth was on the night of the shooting stars—Operation Meteor, I mean.  I don't know how many of us fell to the ground that day, our intentions focused on beating the Alliance back into the Stone Age, but here I was, standing on _real_ ground, breathing in Earth's air and reminiscing about the differences between Earth and L2.

            There's something different about Earth…something about the way it smells, the way it feels, and—obviously—the way it looks!  I mean, the moon looks so much _smaller_ from here than it does from L2, and—yeah, I know, it's because the Earth is further away that the colonies are—but it's just…not the same_.  I guess that after my lifetime of growing up on L2, I'm just not used to looking at things from this perspective._

            Actually, it's quite…beautiful.  Different, yes—but beautiful nonetheless.

            I was hard-pressed to believe that I was experiencing the real thing.  I couldn't identify everything as I lay there, breathing deeply, trying to comprehend everything at once.  A faint musky smell hung in the air; people said that it was going to rain.  Odd that one could smell the rain coming here; on L2 it was always after the rain had gone by—after those guys on the controls decided that _this sector didn't need anymore watering, and it's time to move on to the next one.  Rain, to me, had always been associated with the scent of wet concrete.  I've found that I prefer Earth's definition of 'rain smell' to L2's._

            The run-of-the-mill expression when coming to a new place is, "I wish I had about eight more eyes so that I can see everything at once!"  Well, that wasn't true for me.  Earth looked the same.  I guess whoever designed the colonies wanted it to look the same.  The architecture, the transportation, the greenery—it was nothing new.  True, Earth _was missing a ubiquitous "roof" that those circular, wheel-like colonies possessed, but space still extended on forever, and the stars hadn't really moved too much._

            No, what I _really _wanted was six more noses.  I mean it!  Sight can be duplicated; you can be fooled by looking.  Think about it—optical illusions.  But have there ever been olfactory illusions?  I don't think so.  Everything has its own particular scent.  As I wondered at the marvel that is Earth, I realized that I had been cheated out of the first fifteen years of my life—I'd been breathing in cheap and bad copies of real smells.

            And _that_ just made me want to fight for Earth's existence even more.

            Suddenly, something started beeping insistently, interrupting my thoughts.  I glared around me before I realized that it was my watch going off, and I hastily reached down and turned it off.  2200 hours on the dot, it told me, in nice green digitalized numbers.  I heaved myself up from where I had been lying and dusted myself off, straightening my clothes.  No need to look shabby before going into a mission.  With a final stretch and a few shoulder rolls, I jumped off the roof and onto my beautiful Deathscythe.

            As my Gundam powered up, I went through a quick run-through of my mission that night.  It was a simple job, really—just take out a mobile suit supply base.  No sweat.  Right?  Getting there is the hard part.  My lips curled in a small smile.  _This should just be a walk in the park._

            So we took off into the night, hyperjammer on so that I wouldn't be detected by any wayward radar.  (Not that _anyone _should be looking for little old me.)  As we flew, I inventoried my supplies, armaments, technology…everything looked good.  Breathing in deeply, I let out a satisfied sigh.  Deathscythe's cockpit always smelled nice.  I'm not exactly sure why.  Maybe Howard decided that my B.O. was too overwhelming and put air fresheners in to overpower the smell.  _Hmm…I should ask him about that someday,_ I thought.

            There—our destination appeared as a red blot on the horizon of my screen, rushing toward us.  I engaged the visual, and we were locked on target.  I could feel the blood beginning to pound in my veins, Shinigami straining against his bindings, begging to be set free.  I subdued the feeling; he wasn't needed for this simple mission.  We coasted easily down, ready to make a grand entrance and kick some butt when, out of the blue, the main compound exploded.

            "Didn't do it," I muttered to no one in particular, eyes scanning the scene for signs of the explosion's origin and cause.  There were people running about, wondering what was going on and trying to get away from the fire.  Looked to me like a bomb went off inside—or maybe their kitchen's gas stove self-combusted?  _Nah, I decided.  __Not a big enough explosion._

            My eyes quickly alighted on a bit of commotion going on at the north edge of the base.  I took my Gundam in for a closer look and found the Alliance's soldiers chasing a slight figure.  I surmised that that—_boy—must've been the one that set the bomb.  _Good job,_ I congratulated him mentally.  He'd saved me a bit of trouble and confirmed the correctness of my decision to keep Shinigami confined._

            As I watched him, I thought, _My God, he has ugly shoes._  Even from the distance and through the fiery darkness, I could tell that they were mustard-yellow.  His sneakers—yellow!  I was horrified.  Arson-Boy's _yellow shoes clashed outrageously with his black spandex shorts and green tank top—but hell, if that was his preferred attire when executing a mission, then so be it.  I personally liked my full-body black, but that was me.  Skewed sense of color coordination aside, he actually looked like he had the situation under control.  Those foot soldiers that were chasing him didn't have what I would call the greatest aim, and they couldn't hold a candle to the speed at which that boy ran.  I shrugged within my harness's shoulder straps.  Perhaps I wasn't even needed here.  What a waste of good fuel._

            I was about to turn around and leave when I saw them: about twenty-five Leos, leaving a hanger like lemmings, one after the other.  I paused—maybe they were trying to escape the fire?  It seemed plausible enough…until they turned around and started heading for the gaggle of slow soldiers chasing the arsonist in yellow shoes.  I could barely believe my eyes.  Those confounded Allied bastards thought that they'd need _twenty-five_ friggin' Leos to take down one small, short terrorist.  _Somebody up there in the pilot's seat was going a little cuckoo, and it wasn't me._

            Said terrorist wasn't doing too badly, as a matter of fact.  I watched him take out five soldiers in a matter of seconds and then leap away, firing backwards as he went—there went another three.  Maybe the Alliance _wasn't overestimating this guy after all.  But I wasn't going to wait around and let them find their error.  The odds were just _slightly_ unfairly weighted, it seemed to me, with the bias against one short arsonist—my newfound friend for the moment._

            Shinigami surged up within me, struggling against his bindings—his thirst for blood was contagious, irrepressible—I leapt into action, materializing out of nowhere.  My thermal scythe blazed in a shining arc before sending two Leos to kingdom come.  I _do_ believe I was cackling like the maniac I am.  Luckily for them Leos, my external speakers weren't on, or else those soldiers would be scared out of their wits.  I can admit that I'm not a pretty sight in battle.  I'm more often than not a little trigger-happy—not that my scythe was a gun, but the parallel is obvious—when in the heat of battle.  Flat out, I enjoy the thrill of danger.  It's the best feeling in the whole world.  And when the danger builds up, when Shinigami gets loose…

            In any case, I got lost within the battle, but I wasn't so far gone that I lost my control over Shinigami.  But still, within no time at all, all twenty-five Leos were incapacitated, and I was still laughing myself off my rocker.  They probably didn't think anything in the world could be that funny, but who cared what they thought?  They were dead.  End of story.

            I glanced around the burning base.  Every single building had caught fire by now and was burning away quite merrily.  I didn't even think I had to help a few of those blazing structures along; they were already collapsing into smoldering ruins.  All of those Allied soldiers that had been there at the time of the attack had either died or cleared their butts out a long time ago, which left me—and Arson-Boy.

            Forget scanning the place with a heat sensor—hell, the entire island was going to go up in flames within a matter of minutes.  I looked around visually with Deathscythe and felt my lips compress in a frown when I couldn't find Yellow Shoes.  _I'll be damned if I'm going to let him die here, in the middle of his own handiwork!  _He probably was one of a few people in this entire crazy war who had the same objectives as I did, and letting one of my own kind die after a successful mission was just unfair, not to mention disheartening for the rest of us.  _Where are you, Arson-Boy?_

            Unfortunately for him, this base was located in the middle of an island, and all forms of transportation were either gone already or burning.  He'd have to be a hell of a swimmer to make it to shore after expending a _lot_ of energy in that getaway.  Speaking of swimming, how the hell did he _get_ here in the first place?  Fly?  Jeez.  What a concept.

            The fire was burning more quickly now, and I moved away from it by instinct.  If he had been in the blaze, I wouldn't have been able to save him.  Still looking out for him, I kept myself ahead of the advancing flames.  I hoped to God that he didn't die.  That would be a pity.  And then I'd probably end up depressed for days: couldn't save someone with Deathscythe—and I call myself a Gundam pilot.

            I couldn't find him on land.  Maybe he'd jumped into the ocean?  Frustrated, I jumped into the water around the island, checking to make sure I didn't land on him by accident.  The ocean immediately surrounding the island base was pretty shallow.  I frantically cast about for him.  No one there, just debris from a few ships and subs that I'd cheerfully demolished earlier that night.  I happened to glance up at the highest cliff as the fire closed in on the remaining patch of island that hadn't burned yet—and there he was.

            He was silhouetted against the fire, a dark figure that faced the ocean.  My breath caught in my throat.  It was way too shallow there for him to jump and make it out alive, and he seemed to know it, too.  He hesitated for a second, probably feeling the heat of the fire at his back, and in that instant, Shinigami snapped his bindings, furiously seizing control.  A battle cry ripping itself from my throat, I pushed Deathscythe's rockets to full throttle.

            I don't think I've ever done that before.  Pushed my Gundam from a stop to maximum speed, that is.  Never—not even in battle—had I felt the need to do that.  But here I was, after the battle and still on the battlefield, without a single enemy in sight, purposely abusing my poor Gundam's thrusters.  I admit that I confuse myself sometimes.  Who understands the God of Death?  Certainly not I.

            I managed to catch him a few feet from the cliff's top within two seconds after his jump, snagging him safely and securely within Deathscythe's Gundanium grip.  Deathscythe and I weren't as lucky.  We smashed into the side of the cliff, momentum from the sudden boost sending me hurtling forward against my restraints.  I nearly hit my head on the controls, and I knew for a fact that I'd have bruise marks where my harness kept me from flying through the front of the cockpit.  When we jerked back, boulders and such detaching from the cliff and falling around us, I gasped in pain as a sudden shot of pain lanced through my chest.  Shinigami—_that wimp—suddenly winked out of conscious existence under the agonizing onslaught.  A solid wall of red rose up in front of my vision, and I wasn't sure if my eyes were opened or closed.  _Ah,_ remarked that sober, self-possessed part of me, __something broke.  Well, I was quite damned…I'd broken a rib or two.  Not fun.  It just went to show how much power my suit possessed._

             I sagged against my harness, breathing heavily.  Whenever Shinigami departed, I was left with an empty and rather drained feeling, and this time was no different from the rest.  I lifted my head up, vision clearing blearily, and my vidscreens were filled with images of flames and destruction.  A smile curled my lips upward.  _Mission__ complete._  Then I remembered why I was flat up against a cliff in the first place.

            Carefully as to not squash my precious cargo, I backed Deathscythe up.  Some more rocks and—get this—an entire portion of the cliff fell down as we detached ourselves.  I think there'll be a print of my Gundam's shoulder in that cliff forever.  It would make an interesting landmark, that's for sure.  I can just imagine a tour guide, two centuries from now, attributing those marks to some alien manifestation or another.  Heh.  Well, it wouldn't be too far off—after all, I fell from the sky, didn't I?  Me and Deathscythe, and the others who were also involved in Operation Meteor.  Speaking of which…

            Was this boy in Deathscythe's hands one of them—one of us?  I couldn't know, then.  All I could do was preserve his life that night, for another day, another battle, another war.  Making sure I didn't shake the boy around too much, we took off into the night. 

I had taken him to the shore and dropped him off there, as he didn't answer my repeated questions of "Where do you want me to put you?" and _not_ for my lack of trying.  Maybe he thought I'd raid his hideout or something.  What a paranoid guy.  Then again, there's always the slight chance that he didn't understand Standard.  But I'd tried English and Japanese and attempted Spanish and French, too…he never once responded.  In any case, he looked all right when I released him from Deathscythe's hand—a bit dazed, though…but then, what he went through was literally being snatched from the jaws of death.

            …By Death himself.  Hey, you know, I just _happen to be called Shinigami.  How do I steal someone from myself?  It must be one of life's unanswerable questions.  And I snickered to myself about the whole irony of it as we headed toward land, quickly stopping mid-chortle when my ribs protested loudly and rather painfully.  I grimaced.  I hated breaking ribs.  I could hear myself breathing heavily within my cockpit as I gently deposited Yellow Shoes down on the sandy beach.  He had glanced up through his bangs at me for a split second with an indecipherable look, and I only glimpsed a lot of messy, dark hair and the gleam of his eyes (which, oddly enough, screamed _BLUE!_ at me—though what kind of person would naturally have dark hair and eyes __that blue?) before he disappeared into the darkness._

            I didn't try to follow him.  I was more concerned about getting my ribs fixed.

TBC…

R&R, please!


	3. Chapter 02

Disclaimer:  I do not nor ever have nor ever tried to pretend to be the owner of Shin Kidousenki Gundam Wing or any of its characters and everything else.  It belongs to Sunrise, Bandai, Sotsu Agency, and related companies…not to me.  I'm just borrowing the characters for the sole purpose of (self-) entertainment.  There is no profit resulting from this.

Warning/Author's Note:  This story is either told from the perspective of Duo Maxwell or Heero Yuy and does _not_ follow the original story line presented in Shin Kidousenki Gundam Wing.  It will feature/focus on a 1+2 shounen-ai relationship…others may or may not be present.  Also, note swearing.

Shi to Shi

Chapter 02

_//Heero Yuy//_

What a mission.

            And—heavens above—what a _failure!_  Had that dark Gundam not shown up from nowhere and, somehow, caught me as I jumped from the cliff…why, I would be a mere splatter of blood and flesh against the sharp rocks below.  Trust me, I looked at them before I jumped.  Had the image firmly imprinted in my mind, with my bloody, mangled, utterly mutilated corpse superimposed over it.  Yeah, morbid thoughts, but I could not help it at the time.  But it would have been better to die instantly, smashed against those rocks, than in that fiery inferno that, ironically, had been created by none other than _me_.

            Perfect Soldier, my ass.  If I was the Perfect Soldier I would cry for the ones considered failures as they stumbled around and shot themselves in the feet.  I am not perfect; no, nowhere near it.  My extensive knowledge on treating battle wounds and their ilk only shows how much I get injured all the time.  I have merely made many, many mistakes and learned my lessons properly…I hope.  Sometimes I wonder.

            Blast it all to hell.

           I scowled at myself in the bathroom mirror in my dorm room—a small double room at the school I was…ah…_infiltrating, _but for now, its only occupant was me.  Thankfully.  Any roommate would be asking me how I had managed to come home with soot smeared all over myself, never mind the presence of the gun and the bruises and the blood.  I was lucky to have the place to myself, open to my comings-and-goings at all times; any roommate of mine would probably file a complaint to the headmistress within his first hour of being here, begging to be moved to another room.  Not that I would care, really, for I was better off alone.  An instrument of death does not need unnecessary burdens and nuisances such as _roommates_ to make his life more miserable that it already was.

            Miserable…well, who am I to complain, anyway?  I was alive, at least, alive and well and fighting.  In short, I was doing something about the status quo and the Alliance.  Not many my age could claim the same for himself…though sometimes I wondered if it really _was_ something to be proud of.  I didn't know.  I suppose that, for someone like me, it was.  After all, I had grown up knowing nothing but fighting and war, and here I was, fighting in a war—everything a soldier could wish for.

            …I suppose.

            There I go again.

            I shook my head rapidly.  When I start talking to myself, I get all mixed up in the head.  What did I really want?  What were my aims, my goals, my ideals?  What the hell was I fighting for, anyway?  And I wouldn't know the answer to any of those questions—except maybe the last one.  I was fighting for peace.  But no…as soon as I say that, another part of me yells, _Peace, hah!_  What the hell is this 'fighting for peace' crap?  Who's ever truly believed in people fighting for peace?  What a bunch of hypocrites.  No matter what comes out of it, war is war is war.  People die.  Perhaps the worst kind of peace is the kind that follows after a war—peace built on blood, on the deaths of thousands, on the destruction of youth and innocence all the people who were never meant to be thrown into war.

            So why are you fighting, Heero?

            I don't know.  I guess I could say that I am fighting for my own self-preservation, but if you looked at what I did for my missions, you would laugh in my face.  Or I can say that I am fighting to protect those people who really should not have been sucked into the war in the first place.  People like—say, Relena, for example.  I don't know where she belongs in all this, but it didn't feel right when I threatened her.  So I didn't kill her.  Maybe I am saving those who really _can make a difference._

            Or maybe I'm just deluding myself.  Hell, I have killed enough influential people already, and maybe some with potential.  It's not like they have a big neon sign over their heads that says, "This person will be able to negotiate peace in two years, so don't kill him."  God, I wish they did, but they don't.  I just have to trust my own judgment.

            Oh, that's reliable.

            It's better than nothing.  At least my trust in myself has kept me alive so far.  True, I've only eked by a few times, but I'm still alive.  Maybe I'll just manage, eking by, a mere step ahead of my own destruction.

            Like tonight.

            Heaving a sigh, I rubbed at my dry, smoke-inflamed eyes tiredly.  I had spent the entire trip home berating myself for what I had done.  _How in the world did you manage to not secure a way out, Yuy? I asked myself for the nth time, feeling like a complete idiot._

            _But I did, some small voice inside me protested.  __It was all laid out, and the boat was well-hidden.  None of the guard could have found it, even if they were specifically looking for it!  But..._

            But?

            _But the fire spread more quickly than I had anticipated…_

            Wrong answer, Yuy.

            _And it spread to where I hadn't expected it to…_

            Nice try, but no-go.

            _They sicced Leos on me, twenty Leos…!  _

           Nuh-uh, that dark Gundam took care of those for you.  Stop making up futile explanations, you sorry excuse for a soldier, and answer the goddamn question: what the hell _happened, Yuy?_

            _I just…ran the wrong way._

            Ran the wrong way!!

            Furiously, I turned the tap on all the way and splashed my face with the numbingly-cold water.  

TBC…

R&R, please!


End file.
